Killing Me Softly...one time, two times, THREE times

There's something about May and June that makes me think of my father. May 25 was his birthday, and June 29 is when he succumbed to his battle with CLL leukemia, and he was called home to be with The Lord. 

Here we are, on the cusp of May, and, right on schedule, I'm being reminded of certain memories that include/surround my father. Here's a memory that is worth sharing:

In 1996, my musical tastes were heavily influenced with R&B and rap. My father literally groaned anytime I changed the station in the car. Ha. Well, we had this "game" we would play: I was allowed three songs in a row, and it started the second I found a song I like, whether it was the beginning of the song, or more towards the end. Well, in 1996, I loved, loved, LOVED The Fugees (who DIDN'T, though, right?!). Well, I was channel surfing, and lol and behold, on 107.7 WENN, the unmistakable beginning of "Killing Me Softly" started. My father groaned, and he said, I hated this song the FIRST time it was out...in the 70s! Haha. 

Well, we get about 35 seconds in, and he looks at the radio as if something has died. Man, it was so funny. I laughed til my stomach felt like it was going to bust open. You know the feeing that can only be brought about by a hearty laugh. He's making fun of Wyclef doing the one time, two time...and really, he's just counting the seconds til that song is over. Well, sure enough, the song ends, and the station call letters are announced. My dad says, "Thank GOD that's over!" Well, I still had two songs remaining in my turn, so I hit the scan button on the radio, and the radio landed on Mix 94.5. Care to take a guess at what was playing? That's right! "Killing Me Softly" by The Fugees! There were a few classic "Dadisms" that were expressed that included, but were not limited to, "God Almighty, Damn! Not this, again!" I reminded him of the game, and the rules. Welp, that ended, and he breathed a sigh of relief. I pipe up and say, "Now, to find song number three!" I hit the scan button. 103.7 the Q pops up. We hear call letters. Then the weather report, and I'm waiting to see if I'm going to like this song, or if I need to hit scan, again. Well, song three starts. You guessed it, "Killing Me Softly." This time, my father lets out a "Mother of God! Is that all anyone knows how to play?!" Man, I was losing it. Any of you who've been privy to my laugh know....that it's in a category all its own. 

After the conclusion of the third playing of the same song, I was told  that my radio privileges had been revoked for the remainder of the car ride. Man, it was so funny. 

So, as I was listening to Lauryn Hill sing "Killing Me Softly" last night, I was almost laughing throughout, as I was instantly transported back to that car ride in 1996, when I'm pretty sure that daddy wanted to kill that song. That's just one of those memories that Ms. Lauryn Hill conjured up lay night, and I'm so grateful. 

Smile! Someone Loves You Today!

So, my friend, Alison, posted this on her Facebook this morning, and it really made me smile and think. 

I love people. I love their stories, and so I'm always chatting with people wherever I go. Just this weekend, someone came up to me with his dog, as I was spending some time with someone at a park, and instead of being dismissing, I decided to engage him for a few minutes, and just be nice. Being nice is often times easier than being ugly. Sometimes it isn't, but the majority of the time, it is.

When I was a child, I had so many people who would constantly stare at me. I didn't like it, (and I still don't) but my mom taught me very early that if you just smile and say hello, the things you find uncomfortable, really aren't as bad. (My dad's approach was always to say, "What are YOU looking at?!" I'd be lying if I said I never responded that way, but the result was never as good as just smiling and saying "hello!") So, ever since the age of four, I smile and say hello to everyone. 

Sometimes friendliness comes across as flirtatiousness, and those moments often provide for comic relief. But, I do enjoy meeting people, hearing their stories, etc. 

I recently had a conversation with my mama, and I thanked her for teaching me manners, and phone etiquette. I'm reminded everyday that some people were not taught, and afforded that same luxury. My mom then said something that stuck out to me: "People ask how you're doing, how your day is going, etc., when they care/really want to know. If they do not ask, they don't care."

One thing people know about me, is that I love people. I love spending time with people. I'm about as extroverted as one can get. 

Sometimes a simple "Good Morning," or "How's your day going?" Is the only ray of sunshine people get. Whether it's someone I talk to on a regular basis, or a random encounter, I hope people feel loved and cared for. It's not only the Golden Rule, but it truly is what Jesus would do. 

Smile. Someone cares about you today!

No, really. What's going on?

In 1970, Marvin Gaye recorded a song that became an honest to god gut cry. The song? "What's Going On." In 1970, there was war, police brutality, race relations were still one big cluster. And people honestly thought their world was coming to an end. Martin Luther King had a dream, and he never got to see any of that come to fruition. 

Fast forward more than 40 years, and there's really not much different. Sure, schools are integrated, and it's no longer against the law to marry someone of a different race, and we have even elected a person of color to be the POTUS. But, we aren't that much further from where we were in 1970. 

When Barack Obama was elected president in 2008, there were t-shirts printed that said, "Dream fulfilled." But, is that really true? Everytime I turn on the news, some sort of sad, sick, twisted event has gone down. More often times than not, it's race related. There's really no other reason. Skin color. Seriously. What's going on?

I've been guilty of staying quiet. Mainly because I either didn't really know what to say, or, I was worried that my words might come out wrong. I'm notorious for digging a deeper hole sometimes when I speak. I don't want to make things worse, so I don't say much. 

I've been guilty of saying all lives matter. I truly believe that, too. I don't say that to diminish any one demographic. We are all image bearers. That's what I have meant when I say it. But, my God, we as a fallen world don't see that, or act like that, and it is just so, so very heartbreaking. 

My prayer for a while now has been that God would open my eyes and give me His love for people. I want to see. I want to understand. I want this life, this world to be different. 

I'm here with you. My heart breaks with and for you. I'm echoing the cries of so, so many. What's going on? Why are we moving backwards and not forwards? 

Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come. But, until then, bind up the broken hearted, and hold us while we weep. 

The Missing Pieces Of My Heart

You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.

Anne Lamott

Ten years ago, I lost my dad to cancer. It was the worst pain I've really ever felt in my life. I knew the time was coming, it wasn't a complete shock, but I still wasn't ready for that day. I was surrounded by by brother and sister in law, so I wasn't alone in the heartache. My brother and I were losing the same person, so we both kind of knew how each other was feeling. The very moment that my father drew his last breath, my sister in law was hugging me. There was really nothing to say, but that hug felt nice. 

In the minutes, hours, days, weeks that followed, my brother and I traded "Dadisms" back and forth as a way to comfort each other, or to provide a chuckle in the ebbs and flows of grief. It helped. 

In the years that have followed my father's death, my brother and sister in law have faced heartbreak after heartbreak in terms of their family. Infertility issues--->two miscarriages--->the death of their firstborn--->death of their fourth born....it's all just too much. 

I remember when we were burying Fourth. I looked over at Joe and Melissa and seeing them grieve, and seeing my brother sob, it was gut wrenching. There was nothing to say or do to make this grief any easier. But I was there. 

This week, they have had to walk down the road that is unfortunately all too familiar. Losing another child. It's just too much. My heart aches for them, and with them. 

My brother posted updates this week to keep everyone up to speed. There was a weighty statement within a post that just broke my heart: "Melissa has been pregnant six times. She will have delivered four times, we have two living children. My family feels terribly incomplete." I tell you, when I read this, I cried.  I so wish I was physically present to give Joe the biggest hug humanly possible. His family of children feels incomplete, just as my family of nieces and nephews feels incomplete. I have tearfully prayed and told God that this just isn't fair. 

Yesterday, it was like I heard Him answer with, "I never said it was, or that it would be. I just promised that they'd (you'd) never walk alone." I'm so thankful for that Blessed Assurance. It's still crappy, if I'm honest about it. 

There are four Dentici babies being cradled at Jesus' breast right now, and in the midst of heartbreak, that mental image is comforting. 

The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. 

Thy will be done. Amen

Maundy Thursday...It All Makes Perfect Sense...

When I was in elementary school, I remember going through the lunch line. There were about four people ahead of me, and they all got the same thing: a rectangular cracker, and a paper medicine cup full of peanut butter. It looked so tasty to me. Well, every day before lunch, the teacher would ask, "Raise your hand if you're observing Passover this week..." I looked around the room at all of the hands raised. Some of them were the people that had the matzo from the day before. My hand shot up. Count me in for THAT. I ate matzo and peanut butter that day, and it was fantastic. Well, somehow my mom found out about it, and she told me I couldn't be doing that. My mom started buying my own matzo, and that lasted through high school.

Well, a few years ago, a friend of mine invited me over for a Seder meal. It dawned on me at that moment, that "on the night Jesus was betrayed..." The disciples were having a Seder meal, and we Christians have the missing piece. Jesus.

We've all had certain things we have heard over and over again, but then there are these moments where you hear it, and all of a sudden, it is like, you finally HEAR it, and everything makes much more sense.

Maundy Thursday. The first communion was given. Jesus was betrayed. The other night, I heard the hymn "How Deep The Father's Love For Us," and was not only reminded that at my best, and at my worst, I am Judas. In spite of that, Jesus' blood has paid my ransom. My debt is paid. Therefore, let us keep the feast!

Black History Month and Image Bearers

Well, here we go, again. Sleepless nights, and O'Henry's Coffee are the perfect concoction for my mind to wander and wonder. The latest?? Cultures, and Black History Month. The older I get, the more I love cultures, and what each and every culture brings to the table. 

Two people (women) of color that I've always been fascinated with: Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth.

One question I've always wanted to ask ole Harriet: "When you had to say, 'Proceed, or die' (while proceeding through the Underground Railroad, holding a pistol to them), did you ever have to shoot any of your friends/family? Because, that's some seriously heavy crap. 

I also wonder if all of that she went through made her heart hard. I've not been through a fraction of anything Harriet went through, yet life experiences can make any heart hard. For myself, #thestruggleisreal. The hashtag is trite, yet so true. Some things are just way too big to brush off, and I know for myself, personally, I am so very dependent on the Lord intervening, and removing hate, resentment, and any and all things that are not of the Lord. 

In all the years in school, learning about slavery, Harriet Tubman, and the Underground Railroad, I never really heard anything pertaining to spirituality, but, "Wade In The Water" supposedly came from/was inspired by that. (Side note regarding Wade In The Water, Ramsey Lewis has a jazzy rendition, and as kids, my brother and I would sing "Tee-tee in the water," and we thought it was hilarious. Potty humor. I guess you never really outgrow it. 

So, Sojourner Truth's "Ain't I A Woman?" Has been a favorite speech of mine since first hearing/reading it in seventh grade. You can hear/feel her heartbreak as she struggles with, and is telling others she is an image bearer, just as much as any (white) person.

 Seriously, how shittastic and hard it must've been so long ago to have hope in a Gospel and a God (in whose image you were made) when you lived in a world where you were constantly made to feel less than. 

I'm so thankful for a God who loves us whether our faith is deep-rooted and unshaken, or whether we're wavering, and not even sure if He hears our cries and pleads. I find comfort in knowing The Lord not only knows every tear that is shed, but he cries with us. 

Blessed assurance: We aren't alone in our struggles. We aren't forgotten. We are image bearers, we are LOVED. 

Bold and the Brave, Doubt and Disbelief

Every now and again, I have these thoughts, which lead to questions, which lead to thought provoking conversations with friends. 

I often wonder what happened to Joseph--Mary's Joseph. He's an intricate part to the Christmas story, we know Jesus had siblings, so he and Mary had other children, but he just vanishes. Maybe (and probably) he died, but why doesn't anyone feel the need to mention it? I often wonder. 

Another question I like to ask people on occasion: "Which of Christ's miracles would you have liked to witness, and why? (The resurrection is off the table, because, really, if you're a Christ follower, that'd be the one.) The Sunday school answer in me wants to say all of them, but there's one that I've always found so gripping. Which one? The woman who touched the hem of Christ's garment. Why? Well, I'm so glad you asked. 

This woman had been dealing with a hemorrhaging disorder for a long time. It was more than likely a painful thing that she dealt with. I imagine there were sleepless nights. She was probably discouraged with doctors, and seeing as how she'd spent every dollar she had, I imagine she was just about at the end of her rope. Can you see her? I can. I'd be just so over it. The most moving part of this miracle, in my opinion, is that she just knew. "If I just touch him..." She knew. She didn't know Jesus. She'd just heard about him, and she knew. Unwavering faith. I'd like to think I'd be just as bold and brave, but having had hopes up, only to have them crushed again, I don't think my faith would make me well. It's that whole, "Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief." 

I was texting with my friend, Fayelle earlier this week, and I was honest and candid with her about a few things pertaining to the disciples. The first thing I admitted? "Man, if I was in the midst of a storm, on a boat, and Jesus was back there just sleeping, I'd be saying, "it's time for you to give a crap now!" I would be pissed, and He'd hear about it. Ha. 

The second thing I admitted to Fayelle? I think I'm more like Thomas than any other disciple. I love Jesus, know what I know, yet sometimes I doubt. If it were me seeing our newly risen Lord, I'd not just be poking my hand in his side, I'd be sticking my head in: "yep! It's legit!"

I'm so thankful that the Gospel and blessed assurance is not just for those who have unshakable, unwavering faith, but for the doubting Thomas in all of us.